


The Wolf of the Hill

by lj_todd



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alpha!Dickon, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bonding, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Intersex, M/M, Mating, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, Omega!Jon, heat - Freeform, hermaphrodite, mate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2018-12-16 00:08:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11817084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lj_todd/pseuds/lj_todd
Summary: Jon grew, fostered, in Horn Hill. Under the watchful, if sometimes stern, gaze of Lord Tarly. He grew knowing he was the son of the Lord of Winterfell but never truly feeling it. He had Northern blood but was a son of the Reach. He only left to see the North, to see the land of his forefathers, he had not meant to become caught up in a war for a throne he could care less about.All he wants is to return to Horn Hill, to see the rolling pastures and hunt the rich forests, and to be reunited with Dickon, whose face, and love, he could never forget no matter how hard he tried.





	1. Chapter 1

It was only the constant pressure from his wife that finally pushed Eddard Stark to send out ravens carrying letters seeking a House to foster his bastard son.

He had promised, when the boy had been barely hours old, to protect him. To love and shelter him. To give him a home and a family. But how was he to do such in Winterfell? With a Southern wife who saw an innocent child as a stain on her own honour as well as Ned's. A child who stood as a threat to the trueborn son she had carried and birthed alone while his father had ridden to war.

He sent letters as far south as the Reach, though he would have preferred to keep strictly to the North. Catelyn had insisted. Even Maester Luwin had argued it might be best to try and establish some sort of relationship with a Southern House beyond the Tullys and Baratheons.

The responses that came from the South were what he had expected.

Polite refusals all of them. 

Even from his good-father, Hoster Tully, whom Catelyn had tried to sway with her daughterly charm.

He waited to hear from the Northern Houses, surely Lady Maege Mormont of Bear Island or Lord Jon Umber of Last Hearth would be kind and loyal enough to welcome his son into their homes. They were among the most loyal of his bannermen and, he knew, Lady Maege did not balk at the idea of a child being born to those not married.

He was sorting through letters in his solar when Catelyn came to find him.

"Any news," she asked casually, gently, but he knew what she meant all the same. She would have suited Brandon better as a wife than he. Just as Brandon had been better suited to being Lord of Winterfell.

"Polite rejections and little else," he said, lifting his grey gaze to look at his wife. His wife. It was still something he was not yet accustomed to. "I've yet to have responses from my own Lords but it will still be years yet before Jon could even..." Ned paused, having to clear his throat, still uncomfortable with the idea of fostering Jon anywhere. Even if it were in the North. "Before he could even leave Winterfell."

Catelyn hummed and Ned pretended not to see the look in her eye at the mention of his son's name. He did not believe she would cause Jon harm, he would never believe that of her, but he knew his son's presence in their home made her uncomfortable.

He also knew he could have held his ground better. Could have refused to give into Catelyn's demands. He could have fought and kept Jon in the North. In Winterfell. Where he could keep him safe. Where he could best keep his promises.

"Even so," Catelyn said, moving a few letters, glancing at the declining words of Lords who wished not to foster better relations with the House she had married into to better her own family's interests. "It would be best if a place was found sooner rather than..." She paused and picked up a scroll her husband seemed to have missed. She easily recognized the seal that bound the letter. "This is from Lord Tarly of Horn Hill."

Ned frowned, he didn't remember reading that and, as Catelyn handed over the letter he saw the seal was unbroken.

"Another polite rejection, no doubt," he murmured, carefully breaking the seal and unrolling the letter, ignoring the sharp way Catelyn looked at him. As he read Lord Tarly's words he felt his heart plummet and then begin to race.

"Ned?" Catelyn watched her husband's face go pale and, for a moment, worried he might pass out in his chair. "Ned, what's wrong?"

Ned passed the letter over and scrubbed a hand over his face, still unable to believe what he had just read.

Catelyn read the letter and her jaw quite literally dropped.

_Lord Stark,_

_It would be to the great pleasure of my House to foster your eldest son, Jon, at Horn Hill once he reaches his fifth name day._

_House Tarly welcomes the chance to strengthen relations with the North and with House Stark through offering hearth and home to the next generation of your family, no matter the status of his birth._

_As my own firstborn, Samwell, has been confirmed as an Alpha, all necessary precautions will be taken to ensure the your son's chastity is protected as, no doubt, you would seek a more Northern match for your Omega son._

_Should my words be well received, Lord Stark, I trust a raven carrying your agreement to this fostering will arrive swiftly._

_Randall Tarly_   
_Lord of Horn Hill_

Catelyn looked from the letter to her husband, the letter dangling loosely from her fingers.

"This..." She blinked and looked again at Lord Tarly's message. "You told those you wrote to that the...the boy is an Omega?"

"No." Ned snarled, perhaps fiercer than he had meant to but he could do little about that. "Do you think I would do such? All that would have done would have had those I wrote too seeking my favour through the rarity that is my son." Ned shook his head. "No. No, I included nothing of his dynamic in any letter. But I only wrote the first one. The others were all written by Maester Luwin..." He let out an angry sound and surged to his feet. "I need to speak with the Maester."

 

**_oOoOoOo_ **

 

Hours later and Ned paced his solar.

He had spoken at length with Maester Luwin and learned that the man had had the assistance of Wylla, Jon's wetnurse, while writing the letters that had then been sent out to the other Houses. When he had confronted the girl, Wylla had admitted to including Jon's dynamic in the letter because she had felt Horn Hill would be the best suited place for Jon to grow. 

When he had questioned her, demanding she explain herself, she had done so quietly. More meekly than he had expected of a girl of Dorne.

Randyll Tarly was a loyal man. A man who had no love for Robert Baratheon. Who saw the new king as nothing but a Usurper and child killer even if Robert had had no hand in the deaths of the Royal children himself. If the truth of Jon's birth, his heritage, ever came to light the odds of Lord Randyll protecting him were greater than any other Southern Lord save the loyalists of Dragonstone.

Ned did not want to admit it but part of him agreed with Wylla.

Randyll Tarly had been a supporter of House Targaryen from the time of his youth. Had even bested Robert's forces during the Rebellion, though the man's liege lord, Mace Tyrell, had claimed the victory as his own. He had been one of the few who spoke out against the murders of Princess Elia and her children as not but the casualty of war.

Even if it was not but a ploy on Lord Randyll's part it would still serve the North, and the realm as a whole, well to forge an alliance between House Tarly and House Stark. Besides, it would still be five years before Jon would have to leave Winterfell, plenty of time to instil Northern honour and duty in the boy.

Drawing a deep breath, fighting down the voice whispering to him that he was betraying the promises he had made, he turned and picked up his quill, penning a letter to Lord Randyll to accept his offer.


	2. Chapter 2

Five years passed in the blink of an eye and for Jon Snow, as he rode through the gates of Horn Hill, he had never felt more afraid.

He had grown knowing that one day, one day far too soon, he would leave Winterfell, his home, his _only_ home, and travel to the Reach, to the place where he would live until he was grown. He would grow up here, far from the North, far from where he would be a visible blight upon his Lord Father's honour. And the honour of the man's wife.

He was young, yes, but he heard the whispers and, when he had asked Old Nan about those whispers the woman had not lied to him. Had even made a point to tell him how cruel she had found it all. His father trying to raise him among trueborn siblings when the man knew Jon would inherit nothing of his father's. Nothing but his Stark looks and blood. Neither would enough to secure him a true place in his father's home or heart. 

If it had been he would not have spent the last month traveling so far away.

He shifted, nervously, in his seat as he rode into the courtyard next to Ser Rodrik Cassel, the Master-at-Arms of Winterfell, the only man his father had trusted to see him safely to Horn Hill.

Ser Rodrik had, during the journey, made certain to instruct Jon on how he was to behave during his time with House Tarly.

He was to be polite and respectful and treat Lord Tarly with all the same respect he gave Lord and Lady Stark. That he was to cause no trouble and not to become a burden on the family kind enough to foster him. That he was to remember hat it was Lord Tarly's kindness and generosity that had granted him a place at Horn Hill and not else and for that he was to show his gratitude however possible.

As his horse came to a stop Jon noticed the people waiting for them, the man Ser Rodrik had sent ahead clearly having delivered the man's message and, not for the first time, Jon felt a spike of fear shoot through him.

What if he made mistakes? What if he dishonoured his father further during his time here? What if these people hated him like those in the North had?

His nerves had the misfortune of setting off his horse and it jerked sideways sharply, snorting, throwing its head, and Jon gasped, trying to tighten his grip on the reins to control the creature, not failing to see the sharp look Ser Rodrik shot him even as the man snapped at him to control his mount. It was easier said than done and when the horse jerked sharply, nearly dislodging him from the saddle, Jon could not help but whine in distress.

It was not an ordinary whine but high pitched and like the frantic call of a bird.

An Omega whine.

And it made Ser Rodrik, Beta that he was, scowl in displeasure as he climbed from his own horse, starting to move towards Jon's, clearly unhappy about having to aid him when, unexpectedly, the horse stopped moving, a man tightly gripping the beast's halter to hold it still.

"There now," the man, tall with thinning dark hair, was dressed in fine clothes of dark greens and browns. The man's beard was cut short and showing early signs of greying. "Such a spirited beast for a boy so small." The man gave a slight, barely there smile. "You must be Jon."

Jon gave a small nod.

"Yes, my Lord."

The man nodded.

"I am Lord Randyll Tarly," he said, though Jon had guessed as much. "Now, why don't we get you down from there, hmm? I'm sure you'll be glad to be free of that saddle after such a long journey."

Again, Jon gave a nod, and started to move, trying to swing his leg over his horse's back, trying to dismount properly, like Ser Rodrik had taught both him and Robb, but he was either too little or the horse too large. He lost his balance and started to tumble sideways when Lord Randyll's hand was suddenly on his side, steadying him.

Jon felt his cheeks warm, knew his was blushing, and tried to duck his head, to hide himself even as he heard Ser Rodrik mutter to himself, though he could not make out the words.

Lord Randyll, it seemed, was unbothered by the situation and quickly moved, hands fitting easily beneath Jon's arms, lifting him from the saddle and setting him on his feet next to him. Jon swayed slightly, the last few hours in the saddle had left his legs feeling slightly numb, but he forced himself to stand as tall and straight as he could.

Lord Randyll looked down at him, studying him for a moment, before giving a nod and turning his attention to Ser Rodrik, who had moved closer.

"You made good time, Ser," Lord Randyll sounded different now and Jon blinked, uncertain how the man had gone from sounding so kind and welcoming to sounding as fierce as a Northern gale. "We thought you would reach us by week's end."

Ser Rodrik nodded.

"The weather was on our side," the man said as he glanced down at Jon. "And he's a better rider than one would guess for his age." 

Jon almost preened under the unexpected praise but he ducked his head instead, knowing better than to eve act pleased at the rare kind word from Ser Rodrik.

"I've had a room prepared for you," Lord Randyll said with a faint nod. "You'll be tired after such a long journey." His gaze swung back down to Jon. "I'll introduce the lad to my family before having my wife settle him in his own room."

Ser Rodrik looked about to say something, a protest perhaps, but Lord Randyll motioned one of his men forward, the soldier moving easily to Ser Rodrik's side, gesturing towards the castle even as Lord Randyll swept Jon away from the Northerner and towards where a woman with long dark curls stood waiting with three children, two boys and a girl.

All three had brown hair but the taller of the boys, slightly rounder than the other, had unruly curls whereas the other boy's hair hung straight as an arrow. Jon swallowed nervously as his gaze flicked from one child to the next and then to the smiling woman standing behind them.

"Melessa," Lord Randyll greeted the woman, his wife, with a gentle, barely there smile, and the woman's answering smile, Jon thought, was bright enough to rival the sun. "This is Jon. Our young ward."

Lady Melessa stepped forward, her children parting to make way for her, and she crouched down, smiling at him even as she reached out to brush his curls gently from his face.

"Hello, sweetling," she spoke gently, warmly, and for a moment he wondered if that was how his own mother might have spoken to him had she been part of his life. "I am Lady Melessa, but you can call me Milly if you would like."

Jon couldn't help the way his eyes widened in surprise.

He'd never been offered such a thing before. Not from a highborn person.

Before he could think of what he was meant to say, what the polite and proper response to Lady Melessa's words was, she was speaking again, gesturing to her children.

"This is Samwell." The slightly pudgy boy smiled and waved his hand and gave a quiet hello in greet. "And my twins, Talla," the little girl giggled as she gripped the arm of the boy next to her. "And Dickon."

Dickon smiled shyly and ducked his head but not before Jon saw the pink dusting the other boy's cheeks. He didn't understand that. Perhaps Dickon was shy?

"Now," Lady Melessa said, drawing his attention back to the lady as she straightened, reaching down to take his hand in hers. "You must be so tired after such a long journey. Come now, we'll get you some food and perhaps a bath and then you can settle into your room. How does that sound?"

Jon gave a slow nod.

"Thank you, my Lady."

Melessa's smile widened a bit and she gave her husband a look before leading Jon towards the castle.

Perhaps, he thought as they passed through the doorway, this would not be as terrible as he had thought it would be.


	3. Chapter 3

Days passed and Jon found himself settling into the daily routines of Horn Hill fairly well.

He had been surprised that first day when Lady Melessa had led him, not towards the servant quarters as he had expected, but to a room just down the corridor from those of her own children. He had tried, as politely as he could, to explain that he was perfectly content to be given a room near the servants, it was what he had had in Winterfell after all, and Lady Melessa had looked all but horrified at the mere notion of it.

She had gently told him that he was a guest in her home and that she would not accept him being in a room so far from where she could reach him if there was any sort of trouble. Jon had not wanted to upset her further and had accepted the room even though he did not feel he deserved it.

He took his meals tucked up at the head table with the Tarly family and hoped his presence there, the presence of a bastard boy, did not bring any shame to the Tarlys who, as far as Jon could judge, were good people who did not deserve the stain of him. He knew they had willingly taken him in but he still worried their reputations would suffer for it.

During the days he joined in on Samwell, who insisted Jon call him Sam, and Dickon's lessons with Maester Iwan, a Dornishman who treated Jon no differently than he did the Tarly brothers and who taught Jon that, in Dorne, bastards knew no shame as the Dornish did not view them poorly. Children were innocent, Maester Iwan explained during a lesson that was more directed to Sam and Dickon than to Jon, and those born of love or passion were no less than those born of marriage and duty.

After that it seemed that Sam and Dickon took Maester Iwan's words to heart and explain all the very same things to Talla, who had rolled her eyes while playing with Jon's dark curls, putting tiny braids capped with silver and green beads into his hair.

"I could have told you that," the tiny girl said as she inspected her work, knowing full well the Northern boy let her do it just to make her happy. "Mother says Jon's part of the family now. Another brother even if he isn't hers and Father's. So why would we treat him any different?"

Jon ducked his head and couldn't help but smile at the acceptance.

His own siblings had never been so welcoming. Not even Robb, whom he had been closest to.

"Well," Sam said, tucked up at the table next to them, his book open in front of him. "Mother's always saying he wants more children and Father calls Jon son often enough. So that's good enough for me. Besides, Jon's nice." He smiled at Jon, who smiled back. "And he doesn't make fun of me for reading books."

"There's nothing wrong with reading books," Jon and Talla spoke in unison even as Dickon, quiet as ever, gave a firm nod of his head. 

"Maester Luwin always said books made a man smart," Jon said, not for the first time since he realized that many looked down on Sam for enjoying reading so much. "My Lord Father always held intelligent and loyal men in high regard."

Sam beamed and Talla hummed as she regarded Jon's hair before glancing at her twin.

"Does this look good, Dickon?"

Dickon looked at Jon and, again, Jon watched the faint blush spread across the other boy's face.

"It's cute," he murmured with a soft smile and Talla clapped her hands in delight, pleased someone agreed with her vision, and Jon felt his own cheeks heat up. He knew Dickon was praising his sister, not him, but he couldn't help the warmth that filled him.

The sound of low heels clicking on the stones of the floor caused the four children to look up, all watching as Lady Melessa walked into the room, carrying a basket of wild flowers from the garden, two of her handmaidens right behind her with baskets of their own.

"Hello, my darlings," Lady Melessa cooed to them, smiling brightly, her gaze sweeping over them before settling on Jon. She chuckled and looked at Talla. "Talla, sweetling, you do realize that Jon is not a girl, yes?"

Talla huffed as she watched her mother move to the table.

"Of course he's not," the girl agreed. "He's a prince."

The basket slipped from Lady Melessa's hands as she went to set it down and it was only luck that kept it from spilling over the table and floor. The Lady of Horn Hill looked at her daughter quickly, eyes slightly wide and Jon could not name the look on her face but then he blinked and it was gone, replaced by a gentle smile.

"What..." Lady Melessa cleared her throat and gave her daughter a gentle but questioning look. "Why do you say that, sweetling?"

Talla gave her mother a look that clearly said the little girl thought her mother was being silly.

"Because he's sweet and gentle and charming," Talla explained like it was the most obvious thing in the world and Jon's cheeks burned further at her praise of him. "And Septa Maya's stories always say that's how princes are. So Jon's a prince."

Lady Melessa looked odd again, almost pleased with that response, and she smiled brightly once more, stepping around the end of the table, leaning down to press a kiss to Talla's forehead and then one to Jon's.

"Such a handsome little prince he is," she said and Jon ducked his head, blushing hard once more as Lady Melessa returned to her flowers.

Jon moved to join Sam at the table, asking about what the other boy was reading, while Talla and Dickon moved to help their mother and her maids. Jon was wrapped up in the tale of Duncan the Tall that Sam was now reading aloud that he nearly jumped out of his skin when someone unexpectedly tugged at his sleeve. Turning, he found Dickon standing next to him, smiling that shy smile that made Jon's stomach feel funny.

In the younger boy's hands was a flower crown made of silver lilies and golden roses.

"I...I made it for you," Dickon said as he met Jon's gaze, holding it instead of looking down again. A rare thing and a big step for the quiet boy. "A prince should have a crown."

Jon couldn't help but smile.

He was as far from a prince as one was likely to find but Dickon had made the crown for him. That, Jon knew, was important. Special.

He shuffled close to Dickon and ducked his head down.

Dickon all but beamed and the excitement and joy on his face was clear as the words in Sam's book and as the boy laid the crown of flowers on his head Jon couldn't help but giggle happily.

He turned to Lady Melessa, still smiling, rather proud of his silver and gold crown of petals, and when she met his gaze he thought he saw sadness in her eyes but then she was smiling and calling Dickon a little charmer and the room was full of happy laughter and he completely forgot about how oddly the Lady of Horn Hill had acted.

 

**_oOoOoOo_ **

 

Hours later, after all the children were tucked up in bed, Melessa sat in the chambers she had shared for years with her husband, absently brushing her hair, staring blindly at the wall, mind a tangle of thoughts.

"You're going to brush all your hair from your head," Randyll's voice cut through her thoughts and startled her back into the present. She turned, the brush still in her hand, watching as he crossed the room to her. "What is troubling you, my love?"

He plucked the brush from her hand, setting it on the table to the side, before gently brushing her hair away from her neck, leaning down to press a kiss to her pale skin. He was not an easy man to love, he never had been, but he was hers.

"Jon," she admitted, looking up at him, watching as the dancing light of the candles flickered across his face.

"Is something the matter with the lad?" Randyll's voice would have been rough to anyone else but she heard his concern for the quiet Northern boy they had welcomed so readily into their home.

Melessa shook her head.

"He's fine," she said with a gentle smile. "Flourishing, truth be told." She shook her head. "No, it's...it's something that Talla said today. Something that...it threw me is all."

Randyll frowned, concerned his daughter had been rude or cruel, even if unintentionally, towards the boy.

"What did she say?"

Melessa looked up at him again.

"She called him a prince and...and I just...Seven keep me...I almost told her she was right."

"Melessa..."

"I almost blurted out, right then and there, Randyll, that she was right to call that boy a prince. That Dickon was right to give him that crown of flowers."

"Dickon did what now?"

Melessa chuckled, almost breathlessly, and shook her head, smiling.

"He had Hanna help him weave a crown of lilies and roses for Jon and...and Seven help me, when he put it on Jon's head...when he looked up at me with those silver lilies hiding his hair I...I saw _him_ for a moment."

Randyll wrapped his arms around his wife and pressed a kiss to her hair.

"Then you saw what I see every time I look at him," he admitted quietly as Melessa's hands curled around his arms. "But Jon is safe. He is safe so long as we keep up the lie of Lord Stark's he will be safe."

Melessa shook her head.

"It feels wrong to lie. To betray Jon this way."

"We're not betraying him," Randyll countered, pressing a kiss to Melessa's hair. "We're protecting him the only way we can. And, when the day comes, we'll tell him everything." He hugged her tighter. "Now, explain to me why our youngest boy is the one gifting him a crown of flowers and not Samwell?"


	4. Chapter 4

Days turned to weeks and weeks turned to months.

And all that time Jon found himself feeling like he finally had a home and a family.

He received few letters from Winterfell, though one did arrive one morning from his father, but it read coldly and felt impersonal with the Lord of Winterfell merely enquiring as to how Jon was faring and how he liked Horn Hill. Not one words of the man, or his siblings, missing him.

Jon did not like to admit how much that hurt.

He sat for some time, thinking how to answer his father, or if he should, after all would it really matter to the man if he did not write back?

In the end he did what duty demanded and sent a reply.

He wrote that he was well. That he quite liked Horn Hill, the hills and forests were an endless sea of green filled with deer and wolves not so differently than the Wolf's Wood. He wrote of how Talla had started telling her father's men that he was her new brother and Sam had been quick to follow her lead, calling him brother more often than he called him by his name. He wrote how Lady Melessa tucked him in every night and kissed his hair while singing him lullabies. He wrote how Lord Randyll had taken him hunting with Sam and Dickon and taught him to gut and skin a rabbit.

Reading back over the letter he had, admittedly, hesitated.

He felt confused. Like he was bragging that his life here, so far from his Lord Father and his family, was so much better than what the Lord of Winterfell could have given him.

He didn't know whether to send the letter or burn it.

Thankfully, Maester Iwan happened upon him before he could try to make his choice and clearly sensing something was amiss, the Maester sat next to him and quietly asked what was troubling him.

He showed the Maester his letter.

Maester Iwan read in silence and then he gave Jon a gentle look.

"This is what troubles you? Telling Lord Stark you are happy?"

Jon shrugged and looked at the letter still held in Maester Iwan's hand.

"I..." He glanced down and away. "I don't feel like it just says I'm happy."

Maester Iwan hummed and laid the letter on the table.

"You feel that it says you are better off without your Northern family."

Jon blinked but nodded as he glanced up at the Maester again.

Maester Iwan sighed softly and shook his head.

"Jon, my lad, all I read in this letter is that you are happy and safe." He brushed Jon's hair back, smiling at the boy. "That you are comfortable and well cared for. It reads as though written by a boy excited to have found a place in the world." The Maester slowly smiled. "It reads as it should."

Jon looked up at Maester Iwan slowly, cautiously, uncertain, but the man was still smiling and, in the months he had been Jon's tutor, had never been cruel or unkind.

"Are...Are you sure it won't make anyone angry?"

His question was barely whispered and Maester Iwan shook his head.

"It will please Lord Stark, greatly, to know you are happy. It is all any father ever truly wishes for his children."

Jon smiled and started to reach for the letter but Maester Iwan picked it up first, carefully rolling it.

"I'll send this with a raven for you," the Maester said, smiling and Jon nodded his thanks before Maester Iwan sent the boy in search of the other children, it did not do Jon to sit and dwell on things beyond his control.

Maester Iwan waited until Jon was out of sight before he stood and made his way to the aviary. He would send Jon's letter, as he said he would, even knowing that it would indeed cause some level of upset for the Lord of Winterfell. But he cared little for the hurt Lord Stark would suffer. The man deserved every hurt that could be visited upon him. He deserved to realize just what he had lost by casting Jon aside.

The boy was a wonderful child, Lord Randyll had been wise to foster him. A child such as Jon needed the proper guidance in order to grow truly.

The North might have given the boy a strong sense of honour and duty but Jon would need more. He would need to know how to play the game of thrones if he had any hope of surviving so far South. He would need every trick Lord Randyll could teach him, and then some, if they had any hope of seeing him claim a true and proper place in the world.

Climbing the stairs to the aviary, Maester Iwan could almost hear the hushed whisper of the man he had once served. He had been a squire then, with dreams of becoming a knight, before the Rebellion had torn everything apart. The hushed whisper of a dying man.

_"You will...protect...protect him, Iwan. You...You must...protect him and...and guide him...swear it...to...to me...Iwan."_

And he had.

Kneeling in the dirt, hands coated in his master's blood, unable to save the knight, the man he had followed from Dorne to King's Landing and back again, he had sworn. Vowed to protect and guide Jon in anyway he could. He had sworn to a dying man he would see the boy take his rightful place in the world no matter the cost. 

Even if it meant destroying some part of Lord Stark's heart in the process.


	5. Chapter 5

The candle light flickered through his solar as Ned sat, reading the letter from Jon for what felt like the hundredth time.

_Father,_

_Thank you for your letter._

_I am well, Father, and find Horn Hill to be quite a lovely place. The pastures and fields are a shade of green I cannot begin to describe and the forests surrounding those are equally green and full of deer and there is even a pack of wolves, though Lord Randyll says they will never be as large as a direwolf, maybe the size of a large hunting hound. He took me hunting with Sam and Dickon and showed us how to skin and clean a rabbit after his hounds flushed it from the bush. Lord Randyll says I may have a hunting hound of my own in a year or two, he says that Sam and Dickon will receive their own as well._

Ned paused then, reading the excitement in Jon's words, the idea of having a hound, a constant companion, clearly made the boy happy and he felt a stab of guilt for never considering giving Jon something like that.

Drawing a deep breath he continued on.

_I do not think Sam cares if he has a hound or not, he rather loves his books, but Dickon said we could pick pups from the same litter and raise them together. I like the idea of us raising our hounds together._

_Talla says it's cute how Dickon wants to share things with me. He gave me the last berry tart yesterday even though Milly, the maid who works in the kitchen, said it was his. I didn't want to take his entire treat though and shared it with him instead. I like Dickon, Father, he's very nice. Sam and Talla are as well. Talla has started telling people I'm her brother, like Sam and Dickon, and I tried to tell her not to, I did, but she refuses. Says that I am her brother because she chooses me to be. She says it so much that now Sam and Dickon are saying it to._

Again, Ned felt a stab of guilt.

He had never denied Jon was his, had never denied him a relationship, a bond, with Robb but reading Jon's words it was clear the boy had felt an outsider even with Robb. The way Jon wrote told him more than the boy would realize. It told him that with the Tarly children Jon had finally found the siblings he had, it seemed, been denied in the North.

He could not deny that the North was a hard place, that perhaps he had not stopped the whispers and looks about the boy as he should have, but he had not been expecting a Southern family to be so warm and welcoming to a baseborn child.

_Lady Melessa smiles whenever one of them calls me brother. She loves children, not just her own, and I think it makes her happy to see them accept me even if I'm not truly their brother._

_Lady Melessa is a very kind woman, Father. She gave me a room in the family wing and every night she tucks me in and sings to me. They're songs about knights and princesses and dragons. Things I think little Sansa would like but I cannot remember all the words to write them down. Maybe I can ask Lady Melessa to write them for me and I can send them so Sansa could have them._

_I miss Winterfell, and you, but I am not unhappy here, Father. I will try to be brave for you so that you will be proud of me and I will try not to bring any shame to House Stark. I promise._

The letter was ended simply with Jon's name scrawled at the bottom and Ned found himself with mixed feelings that left him in a sour mood.

He had given in to his wife's demands to foster the boy, and he regretted that, but reading that Jon was happy in Horn Hill was, he supposed, some good sign. He had worried that someone would see in Jon the truths that Ned had fought so hard to hide. But it would seem that all House Tarly saw was a child in need of kindness. It was, he knew, the best outcome he could have hoped for. But he still felt guilt and shame that Jon had to leave Winterfell to find even a sliver of happiness.

A knock at the door startled him from his morose thoughts and he quickly called for the visitor to enter.

He looked up, watching as Catelyn walked into the room, the door closing quietly behind her.

"You did not come to bed," she said, crossing to his desk. "I was worried."

He carefully laid Jon's letter down and sighed.

"I'm sorry," he said as Catelyn reached him, taking her hand in his. "Just...thinking."

Catelyn glanced at the letter, frowning at the name at the bottom, before reaching over and picking it up and reading it over, eyes widening in surprise at what she read.

"It would seem he's doing well," she said though Ned still heard the ice in his wife's voice.

"You sound surprised."

Ned watched as Catelyn laid the letter down once more.

"I just...I did not think Lord Tarly would be so..."

"Welcoming?"

Catelyn flinched slightly and Ned sighed.

"He sounds happy, at least," the Lord of Winterfell said, trying to turn the conversation. "I was worried he would be more of an outcast in the South than he was here."

Catelyn looked at her husband, truly looked, and felt a small pang of guilt. She had pushed for the boy to be removed from their home. To be removed from any position of influence over her husband or children. She had not cared where he went or if he would be happy and well cared for. She had just wanted him gone. Now she saw the upset it caused her husband. And her son.

Robb had not understood, or accepted, the loss of his brother, who had always been at his side. He still did not.

But, guilt or no guilt, the choice had been for the best.

The boy was a bastard and he had no place in Winterfell. It was the way of the world.

He might make something of himself in Horn Hill that would not affect her children or their lives and inheritance.

With a deep breath, Catelyn leaned down and pressed a kiss to Ned's temple, hoping to distract him from his thoughts, if only for a while.

"Come to bed, husband," she murmured, giving his hand a small tug. "The hour is late. Your brooding will keep until morning."

Ned chuckled faintly but rose from his chair to follow his wife.


	6. Chapter 6

Time passed quickly for Jon in Horn Hill and, before he knew it, his name day was fast approaching.

He hadn't expected anything grand for it, he was used to it passing unnoticed in Winterfell and so he thought that was what would happen with the Tarly family but, he was quick to learn, Lady Melessa insisted on celebrating his name day and throwing him a feast the same as she would for her own children. At first he had been confused, why would anyone wan to celebrate the name day of a bastard, but then he was quick to see it was not only Lady Melessa eager to give him a proper celebration.

Lord Randyll boasted about what a fine feast it would be and ordered the great hall decorated and Jon's favourite foods prepared, which included Jon's beloved honey cakes.

Several of the men at arms gifted Jon with toys, carved knights and wolves mostly, and a few snuck him extra honey cakes when they thought no one was looking.

The castle smith crafted a hunting knife for Jon, saying every boy in Horn Hill needed a good blade for when they learned to hunt and skin their game.

Sam and Talla both present Jon with early gifts, Sam gave him a book about knights and Talla gave him a roughly made but lovely quilt of her own making, claiming they had other gifts for him on the night of the feast, though Jon would have been quite content with what they had already given.

The morning of his name day, Jon was surprised when Dickon arrived at his door, carrying a carefully wrapped bundle. The younger boy looked somewhat nervous, quietly shuffling his feet, as he laid the bundle on the bed.

"I...I asked the seamstress to make these for you," Dickon explained softly, unwrapping the bundle to reveal a new set of clothes and a cloak. "Something...Something special for your name day."

Jon reached out and touched the tunic. It looked black at first but looking closer revealed the fabric had been died a deep shade of green and had gold thread laced through the hems of the sleeves. The pants were made of brown doeskin and buttery soft beneath his fingers when he touched them. The cloak, folded neatly beneath the tunic and pants, was a rich green, the same shade as one Dickon owned, and was trimmed with bright red fox fur.

A smile slowly spread across Jon's face and he turned to Dickon, who still looked nervous, and he immediately threw his arms around Dickon in a tight hug.

"Thank you," he said as he hooked his chin over Dickon's shoulder, cheek pressed to the other boy's neck as Dickon's arms wrapped around him, returning the hug. "They're beautiful, Dickon. The best looking clothes I've probably ever had."

"I'm...I'm glad," Dickon said softly as he tugged Jon a little closer, rubbing his cheek over his curls. "I...I...I just want you to be happy, Jon."

Jon felt his cheek heat up, knew he was blushing, and knew that he should probably step back from Dickon, put distance between himself and the young Alpha, but something about holding onto Dickon and being held by him felt nice. Felt right.

The door suddenly opening caused the two boys to jump apart and shuffle awkwardly as Talla and Samwell came rushing into the room.

"Happy name day, Jon," Talla squealed as hugged Jon tightly, making him laugh and hug her back, while Samwell beamed brightly at him.

When Talla finally let him go, she noticed his fine new clothes and looked, knowingly, at her twin before giggling and insisting Jon wear them, tugging at his sleep shirt until he finally gave in and began changing. Samwell and Dickon both blushed and turned away, remembering the manners their father had drilled into their heads concerning Omegas like Jon, though Talla seemed to care infinitely less as she helped Jon to dress, cooing at how handsome he looked before she sat him down and began doing his hair.

She wove braids into it, capping them with familiar silver and green beads, humming softly until she finally finished.

Jon took in the sight of himself in the mirror on the wall and felt the blush climb high on his cheeks.

He looked so different than he usually did.

He looked highborn.

"You look so handsome," Talla cooed as she plastered herself to his side, hands curling around his upper arm, smiling brightly before she glanced at Dickon. "Doesn't he look handsome, Dickon?"

Dickon nodded, blushing, ducking his head after giving Jon a sweet smile.

Talla giggled before leading the way from the bedroom, the boys following dutifully, and they made their way to the great hall, laughing and talking.

As they entered the hall, Jon heard someone say his name and turned from Samwell, whom he had been talking to about their lessons concerning the Great Houses of the Reach, and felt a rush of surprise shoot through him as he caught sight of a face he had not seen in over a year.

"Robb?"

He suddenly found himself embraced by his brother, who clung to him tightly, and Jon, stunned, stood there, listening as his brother babbled excitedly.

"I've missed you so much," Robb said, still clutching Jon to him. "They sent you away and I've been so alone and I miss you every day."

"I...I...I've missed you too," Jon finally said, hugging Robb back. "But...But how..."

Robb stepped back but kept hold of Jon's arms, smiling bright as the sun, and Jon felt his heart skip painfully. He had thought he would be happier to see his brother, thought after so long apart it would feel like finding something lost, but, though he _was_ happy to see Robb it wasn't the elation he had thought he would feel.

Robb stared at him for a moment and opened his mouth, about to speak, when a familiar voice sounded from behind him.

"Do I get to hug him too, Robb? Or are you planning to keep him all to yourself?"

Jon twitched and looked up, finding his father standing a few steps away, smiling warmly at him and Jon felt his heart skip again.

Reflexively he reached out, not for Robb or his father, but for Dickon. The younger boy immediately at his side, taking his hand in his own, their fingers lacing together. A silent display of support.

"He...Hello, Father," Jon said softly as Lord Randyll slowly came towards the group.

"Isn't this a wonderful gift for your name day, Jon," the Lord of Horn Hill said with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Lord Stark took us quite by surprise when he and young Robb arrived early this morning."

Jon nodded but shuffled closer to Dickon, who was giving Robb a look that suggested he did not like the other boy. Which was ridiculous because they did not even know one another.

"How about we have our breakfast," Lord Randyll was saying and Jon looked at the man immediately, looking to him for guidance as he had for over a year. "And then I'm sure Robb would love to take a ride through the fields and the forest."

"I'm sure Robb would enjoy that a great deal," Lord Stark agreed, smiling, and Robb nodded but Jon still felt anxious as he let Dickon lead him to the high table, Robb following along, happily talking to Jon, telling him all about the goings on at Winterfell, where Lady Melessa was waiting for them.

She did not look happy, or at least not completely, she kept glancing at Lord Stark with the oddest look on her face but she hid it quickly as she turned her attention to Jon.

"You look wonderful, dearest," she said, cupping Jon's cheek before settling him in his regular seat.

Jon smiled at her and sat in his usual seat, Dickon to one side of him and Robb to the other. Robb talked endlessly to him, telling him of Winterfell and his lessons and how his mother was again with child and he was hoping it would be a boy this time so that they would have another brother. Jon tried to be interested, he did, but it all felt so foreign to him. He missed Winterfell, missed the chill of the air and his family, but it wasn't home anymore. 

It had stopped being home when the people of Horn Hill, highborn and low, treated him like he was equal.

It had stopped being home, he thought, when he realized that he wasn't worthless just because Lord Stark had had him with a woman who wasn't his wife.


	7. Chapter 7

After breakfast, Jon led Robb, with Samwell and Dickon tagging along, through the castle and down to the stables, where Lord Randyll had already sent word that horses were to be prepared for the four of them. He saw how Robb glanced around, taking in everything with a wide eyed curiosity that Jon himself knew well. He imagined he'd looked much the same when he'd first come to Horn Hill, as different as it was from Winterfell.

Smiling slightly he climbed into the saddle and watched Robb do the same, his brother grinning as he settled lightly, easily, astride the pale grey gelding.

"What sort of game do you have in the woods," Robb asked, still grinning. "Back home we have stag and mountain goats. A few shadow cats as well."

Samwell's eyes widened at the mention of shadow cats and Jon chuckled, shaking his head as he turned his horse towards the gate that led to the fields.

"No shadow cats here," he explained as they rode out. "There's a pack of wolves high in the hillside forest, but they mostly keep to themselves, and the fields and lower forest have some foxes and bobcats. Deer and elk too."

Robb looked impressed and Jon felt a flutter through him. Maybe he'd been wrong. Maybe Robb wasn't here to just cast him aside after all.

"Do you think we'll see anything? A bobcat maybe?"

Jon shrugged as they took the path that led to the field closest to the lower forest. It was safest for them when they were not accompanied by Lord Randyl or one of his men.

"Only saw a bobcat a few weeks ago," he admitted, glancing at Dickon, who kept shooting Robb odd looks. "But Lord Randyl says it was female and she looked ready to have cubs so we may see a few."

Robb grinned.

"Well, they won't be as impressive as what Father brought for your name day, Jon, it's the..." Robb suddenly cut himself off, looking as though he had said something he shouldn't have, and Jon frowned, about to ask what Robb meant, about what Lord Stark had brought with them, but Samwell was suddenly speaking.

"Look at that!"

Jon and Robb's head quickly snapped around and they all watched, their horses stilling, as a large elk stag stepped out of the morning fog from the thicket just off to their left. It was massive, with antlers that seemed to stretch on forever and Jon drew a sharp breath as the creature paused, taking in the sight of the four boys, snorting loudly in the silence, its breath misting through the still cool morning air.

It stood a moment, a moment that felt as though it were suspended in time, and then, with a bellowing call turned and disappeared as swiftly as it had come.

Jon smiled, brightly, as he looked at Robb, who was still staring after the stag with wide eyed awe, and he giggled slightly, drawing his brother's attention back to him. He saw Robb grin and, just like that, it was like they were still back in Winterfell. Like nothing had changed between them. They were just them. Like how it was with Samwell and Dickon. Easy and comfortable and something Jon hadn't realized he was missing until that specific moment.

Still smiling, Jon touched his heels to his horse's sides and took off like a shot, laughing when the other boys yelled after him, giving chase, quickly laughing and whooping right along with him as they rode.

 

**_oOoOoOo_ **

 

Ned watched his boys leave the hall and couldn't help but smile.

He had been surprised, but happy, to see Jon so clearly happy.

Jon had clearly been surprised by his appearance in Horn Hill, and uncertain of where he stood with Robb, but Ned was sure, once the boys spent some time together that would settle out and they would be thick as thieves again.

"He's a wonderful boy," Randyll said, drawing Ned's gaze back to the master of Horn Hill. "Maester Iwan says he's very bright."

Before Ned could reply a voice spoke from Randyll's left.

"Who do I say is very bright, my Lord?"

Ned looked at the man who had approached, dressed in the simple grey of a maester, chains linked around his waist, and for a moment he was thrown back in time. He could almost taste the dry desert air, could hear the ring of sword striking sword, could see the blood coating his blade.

"Ser Iwan?"

The maester chuckled and shook his head.

"Was never a Ser," Maester Iwan corrected politely. "I was, however, a squire, several years ago. I believe we met once."

Ned nodded slowly.

"Indeed. In Dorne."

Maester Iwan nodded and said no more on the subject, turning his attention to Randyll again.

"But whom were you speaking of, my Lord? The one I find so bright?"

"Jon," Randyll said with a grin and Maester Iwan, to Ned's surprise, lit up almost proudly.

"Ah, yes," the man nodded. "He's a quick learner, that lad, very bright. If he was more studious he would certainly give Samwell a run for his money." He smiled. "Though I suspect once he begins sword training, Omega or not, he will be more than a match for young Dickon and the other lads."

Randyll chuckled and Ned frowned.

"You intend to have him instructed with weapons?"

Randyll gave a slow nod.

"I thought it was something you would approve of, Lord Stark," the Lord of Horn Hill said. "He is of the North and I thought it best he be as educated, both by book and weapon, as we could manage." A small frown graced Randyll's face then. "Does the North not train its Omega sons to fight?"

Ned hummed faintly.

"They are taught to defend themselves, for the most part, though some of the older families do not even do that much."

Maester Iwan huffed and shook his head.

"Ridiculous," the maester said with a huff. "What would a Northern Omega do if they were attacked in their own home if not taught to fight? Cry? Pray to the Gods?"

Ned bristled visibly.

"Our ways have served us well for generations. Were Jon still in the North he would be trained to defend himself and his children should the need arise."

"And here he will learn to fight, to protect all, not only himself," Maester Iwan fired back and Randyll gave the man a sharp look, trying to silence him, but the Dornishman was fierce in his believe. "Better that Jon is in Horn Hill then. Here he will learn properly to fight and be strong."

Ned's gaze narrowed sharply.

"My son may be being raised here but that does not change the fact that he is of the North and I am sure Lord Randyll will honour my wishes that he be trained only in self-defence."

Maester Iwan scoffed.

"I'm sure his mother would argue otherwise."

A silence, cold and tight, settled over the hall as though a winter wind had blown through the Reach.

"You..." Ned started to step towards the maester but Randyll spoke quickly to defuse the tension.

"I believe, Maester Iwan," Randyll cut in sharply, giving the maester a look that said the man should make himself scarce. Now. "That you have duties to tend to. I will Lord Stark to his chambers and ensure he is comfortable."

Maester Iwan appeared to want to argue but he drew a deep breath, gave a short, mocking bow, and turned on his heel, walking briskly from the hall.

Ned drew a deep breath and turned to Randyll.

"My apologies," he said softly. "I...I should have...I should not have behaved that way. It was quite..."

"Forgive me, Lord Stark," Randyll interrupted. "But Maester Iwan has always had a...low opinion of you. I believe your slaying of Arthur Dayne had a hand in that."

Ned flinched, slightly, at the mention of the Dornish member of the Kingsguard that he had slain during Robert's Rebellion. Iwan had been the man's squire at the time, a great honour all had declared, and Ned had spared him when, instead of continuing to fight, Iwan had thrown aside his sword to go to his master's side to try and save him.

"I still should have minded myself better." Ned looked off towards the door Maester Iwan had disappeared through. "I have never had much of a temper butt when it comes to my children..."

"All men are such," Randyll said with a shrug. "Or they should be. Our children are our legacy, the mark we leave upon the world. Seven be good the ones I leave behind will be good and justice."

Ned nodded his agreement.

"I pray for the same," he admitted and Randyll smiled slightly.

"I'll show you to your chamber, Lord Stark, give you a chance to rest before the boys return." The Lord of Horn Hill's smile grew. "Seven knows, once they're back they'll be as hard to herd as cats."

Ned laughed and followed Randyll from the hall.


	8. Chapter 8

Ned waited until they were alone in a long corridor before giving voice to the thoughts swirling in his mind.

"How long has Iwan been your keep's maester?"

Randyll glanced at him, giving a wry grin, and shaking his head.

"Just ask what you truly mean to, Lord Eddard, I've little care for games and, from what I have heard of you, neither do you."

Ned's hands clenched at his sides.

"How long have you known about Jon's...mother?"

Randyll hummed softly and seemed to weigh his answer before speaking again.

"Since the day the Prince took rest in my halls and had your sister with him." Randyll looked at the Lord of Winterfell then. "Truth be told, Lord Eddard, were I to have picked a pair of potential lovers of that group it would not have been the Prince and your sister."

Ned frowned. He knew what rumours said of the abduction of his sister. He knew them to be false. His sister had told him herself the truth of it all. But that did not mean there was not more to the story. He glanced at Randyll.

"And who would you have thought the lovers?"

Randyll gave another wry grin and chuckled faintly.

"Your sister and the Sword of the Morning."

That surprised Ned and he frowned, looking at Randyll questioningly.

"What gave you that impression?"

Randyll shrugged.

"She was gentle towards him in a way she was not even toward the Prince," he admitted. "And he looked at her in a way I had never seen him look even at Princess Elia or Queen Rhaella. Like she was a fallen star to be protected and cherished."

Ned, still frowning, considered that.

Was it possible not only one Stark had fallen for a Dayne?

But if that had been the case what had stopped Lyanna from refusing the Crown Prince? Had she already been carrying his babe and unable to act on her true feelings? Or had she seen a duty in remaining faithful for the man whose choices would ultimately lead to her death? A duty she had never seen in her betrothal to Robert?

He shook his head.

It did not matter her reasons, all that mattered now was ensuring Jon's safety. Ensuring Robert never learned the truth.

"And what do you intend to do with your knowledge, Lord Randyll?"

Randyll huffed and shook his head.

"You may rest assured, Lord Stark," the man said firmly. "I may have bent the knee with Mace but I did so to protect my people. I am not foolish enough to believe Robert would show mercy just because Jon is Lyanna's. All he would see is the boy's father. And I would sooner die than give up that boy to Robert Baratheon just so that he may be slaughtered like his brother and sister."

Ned released a breath of relief he hadn't realized he had been holding as they reached a chamber door.

"Thank you, Lord Randyll. I...I cannot thank you enough for..."

"Do not thank me," Randyll cut in quickly, giving Ned a surprisingly sharp look. "I did not do it for you." He took a step back. "Now, if you will pardon, Lord Stark, I must see to the state of the hall for the feast tonight."

Randyll bowed his head respectfully before turning and heading back down the corridor.

Ned watched the other man go before sighing and entering the chamber he had been given. Uncertain how to deal with all that he had learned.

**_oOoOoOo_ **

By the time the boys returned to the castle it was late afternoon and, had their growing hunger not gotten the better of them, they likely would have remained riding the fields until sundown.

Jon couldn't stop smiling as they made their way from the stables to the great hall, not surprised when Robb fell into step on one side of him and Dickon on the other. Robb slung an arm around him, tugging him close, laughing, and Jon smiled even as he felt Dickon's hand brush his arm. Glancing at Dickon, Jon couldn't help the way his smile widened or the sudden urge he felt to hold Dickon's hand. Still smiling he reached out, catching the younger boy's hand, lacing their fingers together.

It earned him a surprised look from Dickon before a shy smile graced his face.

The great hall was bustling with life and merriment as they entered and, almost immediately, Lady Melessa was there to greet them.

"There are my brave adventurers," she said with a bright, motherly, smile. "Did you enjoy yourselves?"

The boys all nodded and Lady Melessa continued to smile as she looked at Robb.

"I believe your father was looking for you, my boy," she said and, when Robb looked at Jon, clearly hesitant to leave him, she touched his shoulder reassuringly. "Jon will be waiting for you once you're finished."

Robb glanced, again, at Jon before nodding. Ever the obedient and dutiful son. He hugged Jon, promising he'd return quickly, before one of Lady Melessa's ladies showed him on his way. Lady Melessa watched Jon go before turning her attention to Jon once more, taking his hand and leading him towards the high table.

"You must be so excited," she said, looking down at him tenderly. "Having your father and brother here for your nameday."

Jon smiled a bit.

"It was...It was a surprise," he replied and Lady Melessa chuckled softly.

"For us as well."

Jon's smile dipped slightly.

"Lord Stark did...did not send word he was coming?" He knew he probably should not have asked, adults did not like being questioned on certain matters he knew, but Lady Melessa merely smiled down at him.

"I'm sure he only meant to surprise you," she said, clearly trying to reassure him, but Jon felt anything but.

What if Lord Stark hadn't simply because it was his nameday? What if he had come to take Jon away, take him back to Winterfell, to all that had been cold and hard and had hated Jon simply because he existed. He didn't want to go back. As much as he missed Robb, and the familiar places of Winterfell and the godswood and the Wolf Wood, he did not want to be forced back into the shadows. The open secret that people whispered and gossiped about.

When Lady Melessa showed him to his seat, Jon was no longer in the chipper mood he had been upon returning from his ride with his friends and brother. When Dickon settled in the chair next to him it seemed his turn of mood was noticeable, at least to the younger boy, because Dickon rested his hand over Jon's on the table.

"Are you alright," Dickon asked softly and Jon tried to smile, tried to act like everything was fine, but Dickon, quiet, gentle Dickon, saw through it. He always saw the truth when it came to Jon. He nudged his chair closer as his mother spoke to one of the servants.

"I could make a distraction," the younger boy whispered, glancing briefly at his mother and then back to Jon. "Give you time to sneak away to your room if...if you're upset."

Jon shook his head. That wouldn't be fair to Lady Melessa or Lord Randyll. Their people had worked hard on the preparations for the feast and he would not want to upset anyone by dismissing their hard work.

"It's fine," Jon whispered back, turning his hand over and lacing his fingers with Dickon's. "I'll...I'll be fine."

Dickon did not look convinced but he nodded as Lady Melessa suddenly touched Jon's shoulder and leaned down to whisper to him.

"Your father's here, sweet boy."

Jon looked up, watching as Lord Stark and Robb approached the table, his father was smiling, that warm familiar smile that, when Jon had been little, had chased away all the bad thoughts and feelings. A smile that had told Jon he was indeed loved by his father no matter that he was a bastard. His father carried a basket of sorts, with a hinged lid, and Jon eyed it curiously as it was set down.

"This is for you, Jon," Lord Stark said, still smiling and Jon hesitated a moment before slowly rising from his chair after a small nudge from Lady Melessa.

As he walked around the table he noticed Robb was practically bouncing with excitement. So his brother knew what gift their father had brought. Frowning slightly, Jon reached out, slowly, and opened the lid of the basket. Looking inside, he felt his heart leap and he looked up at his father with wide, questioning, eyes. When Lord Stark nodded, still smiling, Jon slowly, carefully, reached into the basket and lifted out his gift.

The pup was small, as most puppies were, with fur white as freshly fallen snow, as early morning frost, and the eyes that blinked up at him as the pup whimpered and squirmed were red as blood. When the pup's pale little nose bumped under his chin a smile, bright as the summer sun and equally as warm, spread across Jon's face. He could not explain how he knew but this was no ordinary pup. No hunting hound from the North. This was the very sigil of his father's house.

This was a direwolf.

His own direwolf.


	9. Chapter 9

Jon lay in his bed after being shuffled from the feast, along with the other children, running his fingers through the soft, snowy fur of his direwolf pup. He still couldn't believe his father had brought him a direwolf. The very sigil of House Stark. It was, as Lord Randyll had claimed during the feast, quite the gift.

The pup, which Jon had decided to call Ghost, snuffled in his sleep and Jon's smile widened even as a soft knock sounded at the door.

"It's open," he called out, snuggling closer to the pup, fingers still carding through soft fur.

The door opened and Dickon slipped, quiet as a shadow, into the room. He was wearing only his nightshirt, just like Jon, and had clearly snuck out of his own room. Jon smiled at Dickon as the younger boy walked to the bed, climbing up beside Jon and slowly, tentatively, reaching out to brush his hand over Ghost's fluffy side.

"He's amazing," Dickon said softly, as though afraid if he spoke too loudly his father or mother would hear and whisk him back to his own bed.

"He is," Jon agreed, still smiling, looking at Dickon's grinning face. "He'll be the best hunting companion."

Dickon chuckled.

"He'll be better than any hunting hound that's for certain." Dickon gently scratched behind Ghost's ears and the pup, even in sleep, kicked out with his hind paw. "Bigger too. A lot bigger."

Jon chuckled and nodded.

"He's a direwolf. He'll be bigger than anything anyone in the South has ever seen before."

Dickon's grin widened and he ran his hand over Ghost's side again.

"He'll be absolutely magnificent," he all but whispered before looking up at Jon, his eyes shining almost grey rather than blue in the dim light of the fading fire and candles. "You will be too, I think."

Jon felt his cheeks go warm and he ducked his head slightly.

"I'm just a bastard," he murmured and jumped slightly when Dickon unexpectedly, boldly, cupped his cheek, tipping his head back up so their gazes could meet again.

"I don't care what anyone says," Dickon said, leaning forward to press his forehead, another daringly bold move for the normal quiet and reserved boy. "You're more than just a bastard to me, Jon. I...You will _always_ be my...my friend, Jon. Always. Nothing will ever change that. I promise. I swear it on the Seven even...even on your Old Gods if you want but...but I swear it all the same."

Jon felt his eyes prickle, his vision blurring slightly, but he hurriedly blinked the tears away.

"Thank you," he whispered, smiling shakily. "Thank you, Dickon. I...I promise the same. I'll always be your friend too. By the Old and the New."

They both smiled then, leaning in to one another, tangling together as they settled there, a direwolf pup between them, whispering long into the night of what adventures they would have once Ghost was grown.

 

**_oOoOoOo_ **

 

Jon woke with a start, someone's hand in his hair, and he heard an unfamiliar sound, like a growling dog, before Lady Melessa's voice was soothing his started nerves.

"Hush now, the pair of you," Lady Melessa said, brushing a hand again over Jon's curls. "And you." Her gaze swung to Dickon, who hunkered down a little, barely able to look up at his mother. "Should be in your own bed. _Not_ here."

Jon frowned.

Why did it matter if Dickon had slept here with him? He and Robb had often shared a bed and Robb was an Alpha same as Dickon.

He opened his mouth, about to ask, but Lady Melessa was gently tugging Dickon from the bed, forcing the two boys to untangle their limbs, though Dickon clutched, for a brief moment, at Jon's hand before following after his mother.

"Best you get ready now, Jon," Lady Melessa said softly, giving him a smile though it seemed odd. Lacking the warmth usually there when she smiled at any of the children. "Your Lord Father will be leaving today. It's a long journey back North and you'll want to see him before he goes."

Jon nodded and watched Lady Melessa escort Dickon from the room, the younger boy looking back at him before the door closed behind them.

 

**_oOoOoOo_ **

 

It did not take Jon long to ready himself for the day and, dressed in dark trousers and a plain grey tunic, he made his way from his room and to the kitchen, Ghost padding along beside him. He would see if the cook had any scraps he could feed Ghost.

He had just rounded a corner when he almost walked right into his father.

"Oh," he gasped, staggering, almost tripping over Ghost, who yipped and darted a few steps away.

Ned quickly caught hold of him, steadying him, and smiled down at him.

"Good morning, Jon," Ned smiled as he spoke, though there was tightness around his eyes that even someone of Jon's age could take note of.

"Father," Jon said with a bow of his head. "I...I was going to feed Ghost."

Ned glanced at the pup, which had returned to Jon's side, and nodded.

"Good," he said, still smiling. "Jon, there...there is something I wanted to speak to you about. Something important."

Jon frowned but nodded, trying, as always, to be more grown up than he was. Especially in the presence of his father.

"Of course, Father."

Ned drew a deep breath and crouched down, putting himself more at eye level with his son, hand still resting on Jon's shoulder.

"I've heard whispering from some of the maids," Ned said gently, though that strange tightness was still around his eyes and Jon's hand immediately sought the fur at the nape of Ghost's neck. "About you and young Lord Dickon."

Jon's nose wrinkled slightly, not understanding.

"He's my friend."

Ned gave a small nod.

"I understand," his father said, still speaking gently. "But...Jon...did you share a bed with him last night?"

Jon's fingers tightened in Ghost's fur and when the pup whined he immediately loosened them even as Ghost leaned against his legs.

"We slept," he whispered, afraid the answer would get him or Dickon into trouble. "Like Robb and I used to."

Ned let out a shaky breath and an even shakier nod.

"I see." He smiled again but it too was tight like the space around his eyes. "Jon, you...you understand that Lord Dickon is an Alpha, correct?"

Jon nodded and Ned brushed his fingers lightly over Jon's neck.

"It's..." Ned seemed to be searching for a way to say what he wanted in a way that Jon would understand. "It's not proper, Jon, for you to sleep in the same bed as Lord Dickon."

Again Jon's nose wrinkled.

"But why," Jon asked, confused and not liking it. "He's my friend. And Robb and I used to share a bed."

"Because, Jon, it's different." Ned cupped Jon's cheek lightly. "Robb is your brother. Lord Dickon is not."

"But..."

"Jon," Ned spoke a little sharper and Jon jerked in response. "It is improper. You are an Omega and Lord Dickon is an Alpha. It is not right, in the eyes of men or the Gods, Old or New, for you to share a bed with him. Do you understand?"

Jon didn't, he didn't understand why he and Dickon couldn't sleep in the same bed. They were friends. Dickon was like Robb, was like a brother to him. So no, he didn't understand, but something, something deep inside him, told him that that was no the answer his father wanted to hear. So, despite what he really felt, despite what he wanted to say, he slowly nodded.

"I understand, Father," he whispered and Ned looked at him for a moment before giving a slight nod.

"Good lad," his father said, smiling, straightening up. "Now, you go get that pup some food and I'll see you at breakfast, hmm?"

Jon nodded and hurried on his way, Ghost right beside him.


End file.
